*warning - serious post ahead. if you feel like laughing or reading some light-hearted parenting stories, keep moving along, people. nothing here to see.*

It’s been a weird day for me.  About an hour ago, I was on top of the world.  Right now, I feel like I’m 50 feet below it.  Manic anyone? 

I had a personal goal on my weight loss journey.  I’m officially through the halfway point right now. In fact, I managed to break through the plateau I was firmly sitting on with my ample rump.  When I weighed myself today, seeing those beautiful numbers made me so very happy.  All the nights I’ve sipped water while Mike toasts up a tasty batch of bagel bites . . . or the times I’ve gotten orange sherbet instead of double chocolate peanut butter chunk ice cream . . .or when I order the heart smart items on the menu when all I really want is a platter of pancakes and fried eggs.  It seemed, well, almost worth it. 

What amazes me after all these years of dieting, gaining, losing, puking, starving, and taking amphetamines to really put the screws to my metabolism is how much my self-worth is still wrapped up in what other people think.  Really?  Can I really be 38 and still worrying about whether I am good enough, or need validation from certain people in my life?  When will I finally move beyond that?

How is it that a few words can knock me down?  That’s a lot of power to turn over to someone, isn’t it? 

Here’s the deal.  My need for validation is making me a walking target.  This means I have to stop talking about my weight loss. I can write about it, but I can’t talk about it.  Because I am not strong enough to handle the weird, insensitive, and sometimes, downright mean comments I get from less than a handful of people.  Because when 21 pounds lost isn’t something to feel good about, it’s time to reassess how I communicate, and to what I open myself.

I can give negative people a lot of leeway. I can remember how it was they were raised, or what was done to them.  I remember that sometimes when you love people, you want them to be the best they can be, and sometimes that need overcomes the need for gentleness and respect in your speech.  I can also remind myself that it isn’t wrong of me to want to hear the magic words:  “I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished”.  I will also fully admit that I am extremely sensitive about my weight.  When I was thin, I was sensitive.  When I was fat, I was sensitive.  Really, you can’t say anything to me other than “I’m proud” without me getting my panties in a twist.  That also doesn’t give anyone the right to smack me down or set goals for me. 

It is a major feat that at 159 pounds (look world, I admitted it!), I can look at myself in the mirror and begin to like what I see.  It doesn’t mean I’m giving up - I have a long way to go.  But for me to be able to wear new clothes, walk around, and feel okay is a big freakin’ deal.  Even at 98 pounds I couldn’t honestly say that to myself.  Remember the burlesque show?  Yeah, I actually felt - dare I say it - pretty.  It’s been a long time since I felt that way.  I plan to keep feeling that way, despite the fact that, Yes, I Know, I Am Not Perfect Yet, But Thanks For Pointing That Out.